Musings and meditations on my journey to building a family

Monthly Archives: April 2013

As promised, here are the screen caps of the positive responses I got from my NIAW “coming out” infertility FB status. You can see that there is a “God’s timing” thrown in there, but other than that, everyone’s comments really helped. I never thought I would have the courage to post such personal information, but I’m glad I did. I feel lighter, and I hope I offered some information or comfort to those people currently struggling.

In other news, we have our first appointment with our RE since the ectopic was discovered. In the past week or so, I’ve been becoming angrier and angrier about the whole situation and how I was treated. I want to bring all of these concerns up in a calm, straightforward way, but I don’t know how to do so without becoming emotional. I’m so glad D is going to be coming with me. I have a feeling I will need to schedule a second appointment to figure out what our next steps are, which worries me as well. I don’t want to gloss over the (several) issues I have with the way my clinic handled my case, and I don’t want to speed through the “we want to move directly to IVF” talk. In short, I want to know the following:

Why did the ectopic happen?

Why was it not caught during the first ultrasound?

Why did a nurse not speak to the doctor and call me back when I told her I was having pain and no miscarriage?

My beta was 16 at 15 DPO. I knew deep down that this pregnancy was not going to work out. Why was this not a red flag?

What are our next steps? I only have a few medicated/monitored cycles left in me, emotionally and physically. Does it make the most sense to move straight to IVF?

I’ve started taking abil.ify daily for depression stemming from this whole situation. Is this safe to continue through the first trimester of my next (possible) pregnancy?

What about metfor.min?

What are my chances of having another ectopic?

Now that I’ve put these all into a numbered list, they don’t seem as daunting. Thank God. I will say one thing about my decision to start abil.ify: it was a long time coming. I have been considering starting some sort of medication since we had our first medicated/failed cycle, but have held off because “I’m strong enough” without it. I can honestly say now that I have absolutely proven this to myself, and I have got to draw the line somewhere. As the wonderful Mo said to me recently, “you are not superwoman.” I really thank her for that reminder. When I began having severe separation anxiety from D, thoughts of suicide (don’t worry, I would never, ever act on these,) and obsessively counting the paces from my office to my car, my car to my front door, etc., I knew that it was time to pay my psychiatrist a visit. So far, so good. I have more energy and am starting to look forward to things again.

On a somewhat related note, I have a coworker whose best friend suffered through an ectopic at the same time as me. She tried to kill herself a little over a week ago. I keep thinking of her, and have offered my contact info to my coworker, but her friend will not reach out to me or anyone else. If any of you readers could just take a moment and send positive thoughts/prayers toward her, that would be appreciated. I ache so badly for her.

Lastly, I have designed and scheduled my tattoo to remember this pregnancy. It will be placed on my right hip, covering one of my scars from my surgery. I think it’s pretty fantastic if I do say so myself:

Wish me luck and strength tomorrow. I’m going to need it to walk back into that building.

I have been away from this space for a while now, but I wanted to share my National Infertility Awareness Week face.book status:

“This week was supposed to be the week I announced my pregnancy. Sadly, it was ectopic and I lost it about four weeks ago. I’m taking this time to instead post in honor of National Infertility Awareness Week. Infertility affects 1 in 8 American couples, which means you know someone who is suffering through this. Please join me in advocating for those dealing with the emotional, financial, and physical costs of infertility.”

My beta yesterday was 7. This is the first piece of good news I’ve had in 4 weeks. I’m so glad this is really ending and I can close this chapter in my life. Obviously there is still going to be emotional pain, but I’m looking forward to our mandated break for the first time since the surgery.

Thanks for all of the comments of support I’ve gotten in the past week and a half. I really appreciate it.

*Warning: I am currently in the midst of throwing myself a pity party. If you aren’t in the mood to read someone feel sorry for herself, move along*

It has been one week and four days since the surgery to remove my ectopic. I had a nice weekend in New York City with D and my parents, which was a welcome distraction to say the least. We celebrated my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary, toured the Brooklyn Navy Yard where they met, saw The Book of Mormon (hilarious), and ate at a restaurant in Howard Beach they used to frequent. Thirty years ago! The waitress had an adorable Brooklyn accent and served us cannoli with candles and gave them a framed keepsake photo. It was really sweet, and I could tell it meant a lot to my mom.

But I am miserable today. My parents left this morning after spending the night with us celebrating my birthday yesterday. I went to bed feeling empty and the feeling has only intensified since last night. I have a feeling that because I suppressed any negative feelings the past couple of days, that they are bubbling up and becoming difficult to deal with. I was supposed to have my 8-week ultrasound yesterday, on my birthday. I was supposed to be abstaining from alcohol, soft cheeses, and cured meats this weekend. I was supposed to be completely sober on my birthday. Instead, I drank champagne and ate too much pizza, attempting to convince myself that I deserve it.

But the truth is, I don’t feel like I do. Right now I can’t exercise, I can’t have sex, and I can’t take hot baths. I have anxiety and I’m beginning to feel intimately distant from D because we haven’t been able to make love since before I found out I was pregnant (we were both too afraid and wanted to wait until after the first ultrasound.) So now it’s been an entire month.

Today was really rough. One side effect of the surgery is what my doctor thinks is fluid build-up that is irritating my diaphragm and causing me a lot of pain in my right rib cage. I took my last strong pain pill this morning, and it’s really starting to become bothersome. I also had a beta this afternoon at the women’s hospital to make sure it’s coming down after my surgery. I’ve read that sometimes there are retained fetal cells, but I haven’t found what is done if the HCG level doesn’t lower appropriately. I don’t know what I’ll do if they have to do another surgery. God, please don’t let me have to go through another one.

Anyway, the hospital where I had my blood drawn is the regular women’s hospital, filled with tons of super-pregnant women and tons of new babies. I nearly had a panic attack walking in. There was a girl who couldn’t have been older than 16 with a moderately sized bump, standing among a group of smokers outside. Once I got into the waiting room, there was a very pregnant woman with two other small children, a woman who was barely showing who had a six-month(ish)-old, a pregnant woman with a toddler, and countless other pregnant ladies. People were walking around in the lobby with balloons and bouquets of flowers. Basically, I was in hell. I did my best to hold it together, and made it through the blood draw with only small waves of tears welling up in my eyes. I made it to the car and sobbed for several minutes before driving back to work.

I’ve actually felt moderately strong up until this point, but today I feel very helpless and hopeless. I’m bloated from being pregnant and having surgery, and I’ve been worrying that people think I’m pregnant. This fear was confirmed by the very daffy woman who owns the dog kennel at which we dropped our dogs Saturday morning before our trip. I swear to God she looked at my belly and asked, very matter of fact, “when are you due?” I made her repeat the question because it was so shocking. She said “you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” I said “no. I was, but I’m not now,” and left it at that. Even if I do look pregnant, it’s definitely not more than 10 weeks, and anyway, don’t people know not to ask that question, like, EVER? I wish I had had the guts to look her dead in the eye and say, “I just had a miscarriage. Thank you so much for reminding me.” I’m sure I made her feel uncomfortable as it was, but I really would have liked to have punished her for asking SUCH A STUPID FUCKING QUESTION. Ugh.

Anyway, here I am, concerned about this pain in my side that is radiating up to my shoulder, depressed, tired, miserable, anxious, and just generally feeling sorry for myself. It’s not a good place, and I want to know when it will end. So far every day has been a little different, and today has been the worst. All I can hope for is that it will get better from here.